Something Obvious
by Graysonation
Summary: Sometimes, love comes softly; other times, it's as plain as day. Either way, that first time that you open your heart, really open your heart, and let someone inside, it should knock you off your ass and take over your life. Because all love is is a little piece of insanity. Isn't that obvious?


**Author's Note: **I never had a problem with Seaver joining the team. She was no Emily Prentiss or JJ, of course, but I thought that the chick was pretty cool. And I never found any issue with the idea of her and Reid getting together – she was sweet, he needed romance, and for once, there could have been some good feels in store.

Now, that being said, I've been overindulging in the slash this weekend, and out of the (way too many) stories I've read, so many of them seem to have been written exclusively to either bash Seaver or Jordon Todd. I could care less about Todd, I always thought she was a bit of a snoot . . . But I just wanted to put something nice out there for a character who _wasn't _a bad person and who I _did _like.

This started off as a drabble, and quickly got out of hand. I decided to follow a challenge I'd seen on the CCOAC Forum, and wrote this with no real dialogue whatsoever. Freakin' hard, but fun, I will say that. Obviously, this is not related in any way to my "Reveal-ations" series; the names are similar just because I like them, and for no other reason.

One last thing; to the numerous people I've been promising a second, whump-y installment in my "Criminal Minds / Heroes" crossover universe; it's coming, I promise. The second finals are over, I'll be able to focus enough to write a multi-chapter story again. I _swear_.

There, business is taken care of.

**Warnings: **Allusions to many episodes, but only outright spoilers to "What Happens At Home," "Lauren," and "It Takes A Village." Also, my take on what is a grossly underrated paring, so if you don't like the idea of Seaver and Spencer smooching, bow out now while you still can.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Criminal Minds_, or it's people. Do you honestly think if I did that I would have allowed any of the characters to go this long without hooking up a bit? C'mon!

Reviews aren't obligatory. I like 'em, but the world doesn't revolve around me.

Please, take care to enjoy.

* * *

_"True love is usually the most inconvenient kind." – Kiera Cass_

* * *

Spencer Reid had always had a thing for blondes. It had started as a child, when he met the beautiful Alexa Lisbon – who, at sixteen, had a full figure, lush lips, and eyes that were as green as the grass on the football field. The football field where . . .

Not a pleasant memory, and one Spencer only ever ventured into with a sense of caution; just on those odd nights when he would sip some coffee and remember her perfect, honey-colored locks, swaying in the breeze . . .

There had been others, of course. In the years following his recruitment to the BAU, his eye had caught onto the waif and lovely Jennifer Jereau, who called him "Spence" the first time she had seen him, and never really let up on it since. Their 'top-secret' date had been nothing more than a mildly pleasant football game, followed by Reid's first kiss, and then a _talk _about how they were like brother and sister, and that was enough.

It was, actually. was plenty. It was good. It was _nice. _And Reid didn't let himself be bitter about any of it being nothing more – he'd never wanted to be. Still . . . it didn't stop him from eyeing her bright blonde hair now and again, when she was presenting a case or they were watching some trashy thing on TV together. Just looking, no touching.

But what a thing to look at.

Lila had been a fleeting fantasy – someone beautiful and rich and confident and so perfect that Spencer knew from the moment they first kissed that it would be their last. Like that old song about a candle burning too bright, too fast. Except that they hadn't really burned at all – just shared a brief, flickering shadow, a casual touch of heat, and then moved on into separate orbits, with nothing left behind them but the memory of an old flame and a flash of those perfect, golden strands of hair waving in the California wind.

In the years since those early days, many people had commented on how Spencer had grown as a man. Socially, emotionally, mentally . . . and, yes, physically. The kid had come into his own, and even Reid could admit that he had changed in oh-so-many ways. Except for one most simple, most crucially vital thing.

Spencer Reid still liked blondes.

In all the time that had passed since he'd joined the Bureau, Reid had had a few dates, the occasional crush, rare and passing furtive glances at women who took his breath away. (Although only one time had he been obvious about it, causing Prentiss to comment, with an accentuating snap of her fingers, "And, just like that, an I.Q. of 187 is slashed to 60!" He still blushed just thinking about it.) It wasn't anything special, really. Just . . . normal. Perhaps the only _normal_ thing about the young man.

Reid understood everything there was to know about human sexuality – the way the mind would send pheromones to the body when stimulated properly by . . . well, anything that the mind deemed arousing. He knew the chemicals, the DNA composition, and the psychological urges that made people like what they liked, and do what they did.

Really, he got it. But for the life of him, Spencer had no clinical answer that gave a reason for him being so penchant for the lighter-haired of the female species. Theorists would have him believing it was because he was a brunette, and opposites tended to attract; or that, as a certified genius, he was somehow prejudiced because of all those 'dumb blonde' jokes he'd heard and sub sequentially memorized in his marvelous mind; even Sigmund Freud would have pointed the finger at something far too disturbing for the younger doctor's taste, probably revolving around the fact that his mother Diana had blonde hair as well, and that Spencer was _probably_ just living out some facet of the Oedipal Complex . . .

Yeesh. The very thought of that still made the BAU's resident genius shake his head in wonder. He leaned towards _blondes, _not redheads or idiots or his own mother.

The cut and dry of it was that, for whatever reason . . . Spencer just really liked the way that their hair would shimmer in the sunlight. It glowed, effervescent and surreal in the fading rays of day, just giving off this angelic . . . shine.

It was a fact, and if there was one thing Spencer Reid was completely into, it was facts. He accepted this small, non sequential part of himself with little more than a guarded façade and a slight sense of humor. It never got to him.

Until along came Ashley Seaver.

* * *

The first time a still aggrieved and much-reserved Dr. Spencer Reid had laid eyes on the blonde 'temporary consultant' that Hotch and Rossi had brought in, his only thought had been but a single word.

_Wonderful_.

Not a man who felt comfortable in judging by appearances, Reid couldn't understand the instant comfort he had taken in upon seeing the girl. She was young, obviously – young like him, close enough in age that Reid didn't immediately feel nervous about issues of superiority. She was smiling faintly (_What lovely teeth, _he'd remembered thinking randomly), but had her arms wrapped around herself slightly protectively – _not a creature of social politics. _

He could still feel the surge of empathy.

But, of course, what had literally made the genius stop in his tracks and have to force himself not to gape was her _hair. _Thick, luscious, and the same shade as almonds, curling playfully on her shoulders, bouncing as the girl moved her head and laughed that simple laugh.

It was enticing, entrancing . . . a whole number of adjectives that shot through Reid's mind as someone behind him nudged him to stop holding up the stairs, and both excitedly and reluctantly, he had hurried up to meet her.

_Ashley. What a nice name. Ash-lee. Of Welsh origin, meaning "serious, independent, and reticient." Supposed to indicate a superlative nature, but one of secrecy, with a preference for the written word or painted art over any spoken form of communication. _

All thoughts that seemed to be made poignantly clear when, as _Ashley _looked up at him, there were no words exchanged. Just a flash in those lovely eyes, a shared look, a little secret unfolding. And then a blush had spread across her cheeks, and as she looked away, Reid remembered his longing to make her smile.

It wasn't the first time he had made a deprecating crack about himself – not even to his teammates. But to an admitted complete stranger, well . . . that was a new experience for Reid. One that wasn't altogether unpleasant, even as Ashley hadn't quite known how to respond to his own critical joke. She had eventually squeezed out a smile about him having to have exceptions made in order to join the field (_yes, hah hah_) and then followed by fully introducing herself to the team.

Her real self.

Ashley Seaver. Previously Beauchamp. Daughter of Charles Beauchamp, daughter of the Redmond Ripper. Daughter of a serial killer. Reid never would have known it looking into her face, but once she said it, he couldn't stop seeing it. The words of those case files, the police reports and photographs, psychological evaluations and journal entries and noted from the coroner . . . a thousand thoughts flashed through his mind, but in the forefront, all he could see was that sad, regretful look in Ashley's eyes.

Right there, he made the decision to never call her anything other than her given name. Not _Seaver, _the moniker behind which she tried to cloud her entire pained history, or _Beauchamp, _the very past that was causing her so much agony.

She was Ashley. _Just Ashley. _

For Reid, the first case they worked with her had been nothing special for him; Garcia (the only one he'd felt confident enough to tell about his little hair-preference) had teased him, of course, about already 'liking the new girl,' and in his typical fashion, Spencer had stumbled through an answer, just barely managing to slap the phone shut before coming face to face with the same woman who had set about making him blush like . . . well, like a 12-year-old kid again.

He had been scared when Hotch told him she was in danger. Scared, yet empathetic. It was the same sort of thing Reid could have imagined himself doing – the same thing he had done in Texas, with Owen Savage. His pulse had jumped at the notion that good intentions and nubile naïveté could lead to an innocent agent getting hurt; and at the same time, his heart ached sympathetically, because while Hotch hand ranted and asked her what the _hell _she had been thinking, Spencer knew _exactly _what had been going through her mind.

He told her as much on the plan ride home that night, after everyone had fallen asleep.

That had been their first real conversation.

* * *

Words were a precious commodity, especially to an information-loving, secret-treasuring, privacy-starved Dr. Reid. He guarded everything he said, everything he did, his _entire life, _with an astute and keen eye, the knowledge that even the best of people could do the worst of things in the simplest of ways weighing heavily on his mind.

But with Ashley, he didn't feel the urge to protect himself and his entire identity; rather, he had the curious desire to tell her everything. Anything. Whatever she would allow him to say.

She had come into work on her second official day as a BAU 'assisting agent' with a small smile on her face and a coffee for Reid. When he had smiled in surprise at the thoughtful gift, she explained that his words had helped her get through a rough night, and that she had hoped there wouldn't be any more of those. To which Reid had replied that he wouldn't mind if there were plenty.

Smooth, for him. Much more so than his later, somewhat fumbled attempt to invite her to see a reboot of "Bill And Ted's Excellent Adventure" later in the week. He had wound up blushing furiously before he could even get the title out, and he had always thought he'd seen a look of pity in Seaver's eyes when she told him sure. That she would love to.

There hadn't been a lot of talking that night, and going home around eleven, Reid berated himself internally for yet again being so awkward, so weird, and such a damn idiot that he almost forgot to walk Ashley to her door.

Almost.

She didn't tell him until much later that it was because of that one, small, chivalrous gesture that she decided to bring him another cup of coffee the next morning – only to make a crack about how he turned it down in favor for a mug of tea he was making on the jet. Not wanting to make anything more awkward – she'd already figured out that that was more Reid's area of expertise – she had stood with him and talked about the movie. Which had lead to light trashing of how poor cinematography. Which had lead to a discussion of the plot, which somehow segued into the only-slightly-older man ranting on about how the movie was a bit of an 'epic ripoff' that stole it's brilliance from his guilty pleasure _Dr. Who._

Ashley had had to make a stupid joke and excuse herself, because she could feel the huge grin burbling up on her face, and she couldn't stand the mortification of letting someone so obviously not interested that she had a little crush brewing.

Ashley Seaver didn't do well with talking feelings.

But she did have them, did know them inside and out – and it wouldn't have taken a more experienced agent than her to recognize that she'd hurt the man's own. So when their (how weird it was, to call it _their_) team got home from the last case, she had grabbed a pack of beer and some Indian food, and made the trek over to Reid's apartment, a full apology already running through her mind. The doctor had opened the door uneasily, first with confusion speckling his innocent face, and then understanding. He had gestured for her to come in, and they had watched a few episodes of the show Dr. Reid had been so impassioned about.

He was right; they really had gotten ripped off.

* * *

Things began to get easier at the office. Though the team still mourned for the loss of their friend, they came to accept Ashley – Dave especially, treating her like a find father she's never had the opportunity to have. But Reid was the only one she actually tried to grow closer to – made a conscious effort, that is. Several cases into her pseudo-internship, it had become 'their thing' to grab some food and light alcohol, and hang out at his quaint little apartment to decompress the first night back from a case. Eventually, he got up the guts to tell Ashley that he was really more of a brandy man, and she gathered the courage to suggest a movie at _her_ place, instead.

* * *

One month passed, and then two. Ashley and Reid would get together for dinners at least once a week, an now traded off who got to watch what at which place. They were friends, and that was fine. Except, for all of the time they spent together, Ashley still felt like she didn't know the infamous Spencer Reid very well at all. On the surface, they were becoming pretend-brother and pretend-sister. Deep down, though . . . there wasn't much there. Yet.

Ashley decided that she didn't like that.

There was nothing special or particular about the night that she decided to change things. They were sitting together at his place, eating popcorn and drinking white wine and watching something called _The Shawshank Redemption – _Reid had what she'd lovingly come to call _A Stephen King Thing._ But instead of getting lost in the story as she usually would have, Ashley turned to Spencer and suggested that they play a little game. Something she called _Trust_.

Never one to shy away from something new, Reid had pulled his eyes off of the screen and asked Ashley how to play. And she explained it easily enough; there had to be two people, and each of them got to ask something – anything they wanted – of the person with them; the other person _had_ to answer honestly, and then ask a question of their own.

Reid was a seasoned profiler, and deep down, he knew where this was going. But he still agreed to play, and didn't let anything show on his face when Ashley asked to hear about her father.

Rather, and reluctantly, Spencer told her everything he knew; the ME reports, the transcripts from the trials he had long ago memorized, dates, names, personal opinions. He was cut off in his litany when he saw the tears rolling down Ashley's cheeks, and he immediately stopped and leaned forward to hug her.

When she tried to shrug away from his touch and insist that he still had a free question, Reid scooted closer to her on the couch, and asked Ashley if she was okay. And when she shook her head, he held her tight for the rest of the evening.

She was a lot more okay after that.

* * *

The dynamics of their relationship began to change, then – because now that Ashley had gotten what she had originally wanted, it would have been easy enough to shut the doctor out of her life and move on with things.

Except that she didn't want to.

Instead, they wiled away the next few months by growing closer and closer. He told her about the kids that bullied him in his school, and she shared about the adults who had exiled her in hers. He told her he was scared of the dark, and she told him that, guess what, she was too. They shared ideas on profiling, with her being a green agent with plenty of ideas, and him being the senior genius who had answer after answer at the ready.

They went to the Smithsonian Museum over a course of weekends, determined to see every inch – something they were _still_ working on. He took her to his favorite coffee shop, and she showed him how to enjoy a jazz lounge in the evenings. They explored libraries and theaters, and would even walk down the streets and just think silently, taking nothing but comfort in the other's presence.

Eventually, the team began to see Reid's acceptance of the new recruit, and they began to make more of an effort with her, as well. There had been a few dinners, some jesting on the jet, and even the odd 'scary' movie. It wasn't like it was with JJ, but it was nice to have some sort of family again.

But, of course, even with Morgan and Emily and Garcia all weighing in, Reid and Ashley most treasured each one another's company. Because it was different, because it was some sort of special. Because Ashley knew that Reid's greatest fear was winding up like his mother, while he knew hers was becoming her dad. Because while Reid had never had sex with anyone for fear of not being able to trust someone that much with him, Ashley was a virgin because she didn't think she could ever trust _herself_ with someone like that. Because they had enough faith in each other enough to share those things. Because it was Spencer who was with Ashley when she opened one of her father's letters for the first time; because it was Ashley who held Reid's hand when he went to visit Bennington for his mother's birthday.

Reid had never had someone to hold his hand before.

* * *

People began to notice their closeness, and would comment on it; who would have thought that the youngest agent ever to be recruited to the FBI – a shy and gawky gentleman on his best day – would get attached to the newbie with an X-rated past – who was standoffish on her best day – so quickly?

They heard the rumors, and neither of them could find it within themselves to care. While other people could speculate, Ashley and Spencer (he had become Spencer now, although not Spence, never that) decided not to care. Let _them _think what _they _would; _they_ didn't know Ashley and Spencer well enough for the two agents to let it bug them. They didn't know that while Ashley projected a social demeanor, deep down inside she was still a 13-year-old scared little girl who never wanted to speak to anyone about anything ever. While Reid, her opposite in so many ways, acted awkward and strange, but was secretly someone longing for a deep, lasting bonds – and that once someone was inside his heart, they never left. Even if they walked away.

They would sometimes talk about their daddy issues, or the fact that neither of them talked to their mothers as much as they should or wanted to. Ashley told him how much she loved to sing, and Reid showed her magic tricks he hadn't been able to perform for adults in years and years. They would tackle some days with child-like abandon, laughing and smiling without being sure of why, and other days with grim determination, profiling and hashing and trying to _understand_ why.

* * *

They did Christmas together – sort of. Reid came over to her place with packets of hot chocolate and a copy of _West Side Story, _one of her favorites. Ashley invited him in, holding out a mug of hazelnut coffee and a leather bound version of _Romeo & Juliet,_ one of his favorites. They sipped warm drinks and watched the DVD, with Spencer eventually coaxing her to sing along. And then later, Ashley convinced him to read aloud his favorite parts of the old Shakespearean tale. They fell asleep in her living room, surrounded by swirling snow on the outside.

They did New Year's at his place – sort of. Reid's heating was broken, and they wound up watching the ball drop from his threadbare couch, wrapped up in miles and miles of down comforter. As she chanted three, two, and one, Reid surprised the hell out of both of them and leaned over to give her a quick peck on the cheek.

After that, both of their cheeks were flaming and keeping them warm through the rest of the night.

* * *

More weeks passed. The days grew shorter, and their talks grew longer. They would trade little Post-It notes (something Reid initiated) and send texts on the clock (something Ashley had to teach him how to do), and once off of work, they would walk each other to their cars, follow on another to movies or restaurants, and just enjoy the pleasure of the company that had been growing between them in the few months since the two had been introduced.

For Valentine's Day, Reid brought in a single yellow rose – Ashley's favorite. He was the first boy to ever buy her flowers.

Ashley brought him in a small red jawbreaker – something she told Reid he enjoyed far too much of, but the cinnamon flavor made him smell so nice. She was the first girl to ever bring Reid a present just because.

Things weren't bliss, because in their line of work, things were never bliss. But they were nice.

And then March happened.

* * *

Neither of the two of them had been as close to Emily as Morgan, or Hotch, or even Garcia. But both Spencer and Ashley still felt the ripping pain of her being torn away from them, they both shared being lost in the gaping hole that their dead friend left in them.

Reid had withdrawn within himself, wishing and wanting and blaming and hating that he had never gotten to say goodbye to Emily. Just like with everyone else in his life.

No one had given a second thought to how Seaver felt because, after all, she hadn't _really_ been on the team long enough to care as much as they did.

Except that Ashley did care. She cared that someone she had been growing to like was dead because of a long-ago assignment; she cared that while this unit called themselves a family, there were still enough trust issues that now an agent had been senselessly murdered, all alone when it mattered the most; she cared that someone she was coming to see as her closest ally had driven home, alone, and wasn't responding to her attempts to reach out anymore.

So Ashley did what she had always done in cases like these; she bottled up her own feelings, grabbed a container of scotch, and drove to Reid's house, armed with containers of Chinese food and _A Few Good Men_.

Anything to distract her friend.

When Spencer had answered the door, he hadn't looked like the man she had slowly been falling for; he looked pale, broken, and weak. And Ashley didn't care, because even when this genius stood in front of her, looking decimated and devastated and a step away from death himself, she still saw his beauty and strength.

She later apologized for the mess, helping him clean up the fried rice and broken glass and alcohol from the floor. But not for the fact that she had emptied her arms so that she could fling them around his neck instead and give him a deep, long kiss – anything to wipe that sad look off of his face.

She wasn't sorry for that. And, truth be told, neither was he.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Ashley became 'more than just a friend' to Spencer. It wasn't just about the physical stuff, though. Not even. The kisses they shared were soft and sweet and scarce, and their walks outside of work now included hand-holding – but that was the full extent of it.

No, Ashley instead allowed herself to morph from buddy not into _girlfriend_, but into _shadow_; not caring how distraught it would make him at times, she refused to leave Reid alone for more than a couple of hours a day. She insisted that they get lunch together, even after it became painfully obvious that Reid had no desire to talk about Prentiss. She was the one who kept up their weekend outings to the Smithsonian, and she was the one who pushed him to go to JJ's for Sunday morning brunches, knowing that it was just a cover for him to cry on someone else's shoulder. And she didn't resent him for that.

When he called her in the middle of the night, she answered. When she found him in his apartment, pale and sweating and clutching a loaded needle, crying out for help, she stepped up to him gently, pulled the plunger from his hands, and sat down with him on the cold tiled floor, refusing to let him go or be alone again.

She didn't judge him for his past; she even drove him to some of his NA meetings. And in return, she told him that the next time he needed something to forget, _she_ would be the one to take him away from reality. Not Dilaudid.

She made a promise that she would do whatever it took to help Reid, to save him. And though he knew she meant it with all her heart, the doctor never let himself take her up on her offer. Not until he had a horrendous nightmare about Emily dying – the first one he'd had in months.

Then, and only then, did Spencer finally ask something of Ashley. And she said yes, just like she'd promised.

So every afternoon, they went down to the shooting range, where the pair of them would slip on ear muffs and load their Glocks. Ashley gave Reid pointers on how to aim, how to hold his gun, and Reid would babble off lectures about bullet trajectories, physics, and the mechanical workings of a pistol.

Not like old times, but still nice.

The first time Reid made a headshot all on his own, Ashley had jumped up and clapped her hands for him. Reid turned around, a smile etched across his features, and grabbed her close, sealing it with a kiss.

Not their first one, not by any means. But it was the first time Reid had ever initiated full-on contact.

He liked it.

So did Ashley.

* * *

Their first 'real' date was to a poetry slam being held near Reid's building. He threw on the purple scarf he knew she loved, and she wore a dress for the first time in a long time, just because he mentioned that he liked how skirts clung to the female form. They had had a brief second to get lost in how _deliciously good_ the other one looked at the doors, and then, after a joke about cleaning up nice, they had walked into the library hand-in-hand.

The readings had been pleasant, if far from excellent. But when someone had recited a version of _Having A Coke With You_, Reid had turned to Ashley and murmured the words along with the amateur onstage. And she had given him one of those rare smiles, a single tear carving a path down her cheek.

That night when they walked back to his place, both Reid and Ashley made love for the first time. A mess of unsure limbs and few soft spoken words were all it had taken, and suddenly, for once in his life, there was someone in Reid's bed with him.

He had tried to say he was sorry the next morning, so certain that he might have just ruined one of the best things to ever happen to him by some inexplicable little nuance of biology.

But Ashley had given him a watery, genuine smile, and told him that the only thing he would have to apologize for was if they never did it again.

Reid never had to give that apology.

That same day, they made their relationship official to Hotch.

* * *

She had gotten transferred off of the team. Reid had wanted to tear his own hair out when he'd heard the news (because he could never touch those beautiful golden locks of Ashley's, no certainly not), and was only stopped when smaller, smoother hands than his gripped his fingers tightly. She had told him not to worry, that the BAU was interesting, but too intense, and that her heart would lie more comfortably with Domestic Trafficking anyway. And that, the best part was, as they were no longer teammates, the FBI had no say in their couple-hood.

Reid told her that they never had, and laughed when she dragged him by the wrist to the bedroom that they two of them now shared at his – _their_ – place.

* * *

She hadn't moved in officially until Emily Prentiss came back into their lives, and she saw how Reid was coursing towards catastrophe. The issues of trust, of longing, the questions of long pent-up self-worth, all had the man she so cared for careening wildly off kilter.

She got the news the day that he and his team were called in to testify their case, and asked for a sick day from work. When Reid came home that night, emotionally drained and so ready to fall asleep, it had been no bad surprise to see his beautiful golden girl waiting in the kitchen, a mug of coffee held out in her hand and homemade chicken noodle soup boiling away on their counter.

After the taste of caffeine and her lips had faded away a bit, Reid asked her why.

She said it was because she loved him.

He said he loved her, too.

That night, laying tangled up in the sheets – a comfortable, familiar pose for the two of them – Reid had whispered, as his eyes began to drift shut, that he had no idea what he would have done if not for her. For his Ashley.

She told him that _they_ would have missed out on something great. Something simple and wonderful and perfect.

That, he had told her, was obvious.

They shared one last kiss before falling asleep in each other's arms. They never had any more nightmares when they did that.

* * *

_"True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked." – Erich Segal_


End file.
